


The Rusame Hour

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Comedy, M/M, Tags at beginnings of chapters, Talk Shows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25590535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: This is a fourth wall comedy and variety show that consists of short stories. Join Alfred Jones and Ivan as TV hosts that discuss... themselves?
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	1. PILOT

[Introductory music plays. Camera 1, 2, and 3 all centre on desk. Both hosts seated at desk in contemporary suits. Panning shot focuses on Alfred, zooms in.]

ALFRED: Hello and welcome to Rusame Hour! We're your hosts, Alfred Jones...

[Camera widens shot to include Ivan.]

IVAN: ... and Ivan Braginsky. Stay tuned for the hottest news in RusAme.

ALFRED: That's right. Your favourite power couple is front and centre in tonight's edition.

[Ivan gives smug side glance to camera 2, then returns to camera 1.]

IVAN: Is that not every episode?

[Alfred ignores Ivan's snide, smiles.]

ALFRED: I have to say big guy, this last season really picked up for RusAme enthusiasts. The majority agreement by most creators to switch from AmeRus to Rusame branding in the 2013 season was controversial.

IVAN: That could be so, but the over all trend of this ship has really come around. With Russia's formal trade from RusCan in 2009, and most RoChu franchises these last few years, you can't deny it. RusAme is here to stay.

ALFRED: Oh absolutely. The fanfiction in production by talent scouts is mind blowing.

IVAN: _Mind blowing._

ALFRED: Drawing Dead, With You, World's Worst Vampire... All classics.

IVAN: Diamonds of the industry, sparkling. We can't forget our lovely sponsor on the Ao3 network.

ALFRED: That's right. This program is brought to you by Jupiterra Industries. Jupiterra, number one in fluff with splashes of murder. The reading choice you can trust.

[Both hosts wink at camera 1]

IVAN: Let's really dig into the analytical side. What can we expect from this upcoming season?

ALFRED: This new season is unclear. The formation of the discord server, Rusame Creators and Lovers, is making big impact. A lot of talent is gathering in one place. You know what they say about ideal conditions.

IVAN: Things are bound to happen under ideal circumstances. We can only hope we get great content, and great future interviews.

ALFRED: We can only hope. The premise of the Rusame Hour is featuring short pieces primarily sourced and inspired from Discord. From there we will be offering cutting edge observations with guests. This is a variety show like none before! Ivan will even take his top off for the adoring public.

[Ivan looks at Alfred with deadpan expression.]

IVAN: We talked about this in the green room. I'm not taking my shirt off.

ALFRED: Stay tuned for our first clip, and some sweet nipples from this guy.

IVAN: You can't just say that! This is network television.

[Alfred gestures to camera 3 as it pans away into fade, winks. Ivan visibly fumes in background.]

[Play Clip 1]


	2. Clip 1: I Dream Of Genies

**I Dream of Genies**  
AU: modern + genies  
Rating: M with feelings

Alfred was ecstatic when he first brought home a new treasure from the flea market. He was an avid collector of “old junk”, as his family would frame it. He wanted to have just one more piece of the past. The golden blonde would take weeks to shine and repair even the ugliest antique. When this restoration of sorts was complete, Alfred would have gleaming new testament to his efforts on the shelf.

Today's project was a battered yet gorgeous nesting doll, obviously from the soviet bloc. If Alfred was lucky, this item might actually be from Novgorod like the markings claimed. Certain the relic held no true value after researching the model, Alfred went to work.

The mystery of the nesting doll was why it hadn't fallen apart yet. It had all the signs of multiple owners and abusers. Someone tried to crush this nesting doll, likely the last owner. A mysterious ring of electric tape was bound around the middle. The signs of modern pagan magic were painted onto the electrical tape, somehow shimmering. Weird pagans with their glitter kits.

Peeling off the electrical tape slowly, Alfred's eye was on the ruined wood beneath. He might save this antique yet. Sufficiently distracted, he didn't notice the writing on the tape... Did it just flash colour? Confused, Alfred peeled off the last of the black electrical tape. The runic symbols swirled in colour and faint light. A message hit Alfred's brain like a rock.

 _Remover of the seal claims all responsibility for the burden of the genie remover of the seal claims all responsibility for the burden of the genie remover_ – The thought was loud and sickening, making Alfred grip his aching head.

“Stop it!” He called out, dropping the stupid tape. The mystic chant silenced. All was at peace, and the man relaxed his posture.

The nesting doll fell apart, cracking like a peanut on every surface. The tape had been the only thing holding it together somehow. Where the nesting doll once sat, a pure orb of purple light floated. Against all common sense, human curiosity persisted. With baited breath, Alfred touched the light source. It was warm and elastic in surface.

It bloomed rapidly into the shape of a large man, fading to blacks and red. It culminated with a final glittering sprinkle of purple, Alfred's garage desk now complaining from weight. There was a huge man sitting on his desk, skin and hair pale. Dressed in soviet era Adidas knock offs, Mystic violet eyes rested on Alfred. The hooded smug gaze was enigmatic and smouldering, with no smile to clarify things.

“Hello, New master of the genie.” The person greeted, scooting his ass off the work desk. Alfred had already backed away in concern, having witnessed a man emerge from a nesting doll. His life would never be normal again.

00000

Life with a new genie was quite novel. Alfred had endless streams of questions about the past. What had textbooks got right? Not much, apparently. It was difficult to explain away a Slavic giant in a jogging suit, but Alfred's brother eventually stopped bugging him. Matthew and Alfred did rent the house out together.

Matthew finally spoke up a week after the genie first appeared. Breakfast was tense as pancakes were served. The genie had demanded a name, almost as persistent about wishes. Wish, wish, wish. He urged Alfred to make his one wish constantly.

“Ivan you gotta share some pancakes.” Alfred chided, stealing some for himself.

Ivan the genie clearly hated his job, stabbing into his massive breakfast. “Nyet. Make a wish already.”

“This is ridiculous. First you sublet the garage out to this weird guy. Now he's eating everything!” Matthew openly complaining.

“I tell you! I am magic, what is so hard about magic?” Ivan snipped, just as cranky.

“Magic isn't real!” Matthew shot right back. “No more pancakes for you!”

Alfred tried to calm the situation down, hopelessly out gunned. “Matthew please, can't we –”

“Magic is real and you are lesser for it!” Ivan thundered, eyes glowing in purple anger. He stood violently snapping his fingers. Pancakes were now raining from the ceiling. “Have all the food you want! Get fat and die! Do you think I care? I have been alive over a thousand years, serving idiots! I want you all to die!”

Stomping off to smoke for the third time this morning, Ivan brushed a pancake off his track suit. A few more pancakes plopped onto the kitchen floor, but the phenomena had mostly stopped. Kuma the fluffy white dog emerged from a pancake pile, tail wagging fiercely. She was certainly trying to eat her way out, only stopped by a shocked Matthew.

“No Kuma, pancakes aren't puppy food.” The twin brother muttered, still processing things. Kuma whined, trying to dig into pancake like it was soft earth.

“I'll go talk to him.” Alfred escaped the kitchen fast, seeing Ivan in the backyard. The miserable genie was smoking and staring hard at the backyard fence.

“Go away or make wish.” The magic being grumbled upon Alfred's approach.

“No. I _want_ you to tell me why you are being an asshole.” Alfred ordered.

Ivan was not allowed to disobey a single want, as well as wishes. It was part of his strict spiritual imprisonment. The force of nature snarled and looked over his shoulder in absolute disrespect. “I am a tool. Use me and be done. What do you want? Riches? Livestock? Healed eyes?”

“There is nothing wrong with glasses.” Alfred defended his nature, pushing slipping glasses up his nose. He was as blind as his twin brother.

“I don't care. Leave me alone.” Ivan mumbled, sniffling and dabbing his eyes dry on his old shirt.

“Dude, are you crying?”

“ _No_ , I do not cry.” Ivan hissed, looking more pissed off than ever. “I am not anything! I am genie! I make stupid wishes come true for stupid people, then I go to sleep! How is it so hard for you to understand this? **Make your wish already**.”

The intensity of emotion coming off Ivan was fiery hot as he grabbed Alfred by the collar. Realizing he had aggressively approached his master, Ivan's grip was released. He took a shaky step back, finishing off his smoke. Expression ashen, Ivan looked to the ground in defeat. “Make a wish already, I'm tired.”

This was an immortal magical being that was depressed to his core. The idea of a genie being depressed surprised Alfred. Ivan was rarely home unless ordered to stay there. He mostly wandered the town, or bought cigarettes with summoned money.

Three days after Ivan's emotional breakfast scene, Alfred was at home. Matthew sat with him on the couch, watching a gory action movie. The curious brother looked over, all begging silent questions.

Alfred sighed. “Say it.”

“He's a genie, a real life genie. You could wish for anything.”

“I could.” Alfred had a niggling feeling of doubt. The genie was depressed and moody, likely incapable of killing himself. He was rugged and pale and... sexier than Alfred would care to admit. On the deepest and most shallow levels, Ivan didn't deserve to be sad. He was too cute.

Trying to convince the eternal pessimist life that was beautiful was impossible. He mostly stewed and stared at the earth. Alfred watched TV but took in nothing, lost in thought. He knew what he had to do, but he knew there would be consequences. Possibly terrible consequences. He sat up, serious for once.

“I know what I'm going to ask for.”

“Really?” Matthew perked up. “Is it money?”

“Better.” Alfred stood, shouting into open air. “Ivan! I'm ready to make a wish.”

Ivan materialized before them in a purple glitter of magic. He was downright exhibitionist about his abilities, uncaring in the least if he was caught. This was one of many reasons Alfred was worried over a genie touring around town. “Thank the gods. What is it, money?”

He dug out a few bundles of cash, tossing them on the couch. “If money, it is no problem.” Matthew picked up the discarded wealth, preciously holding it in silence.

“Better big guy.” Alfred smiled bright. He leaned forward, whispering to Ivan with a cupped hand. Ivan listened, looking surprised. He grinned, shaking a little from the emotion of whatever was said.

“R-really? Are you sure? I... I of course Master.” Ivan fumbled over his own words, digging out a key. He opened up his jacket, holding up his shirt. Where a human heart would roughly reside, there was a keyhole.

“Just unlock it?” Alfred asked, looking rather rosy as he looked over the manscape.

“Da, and say the wish out loud.” Ivan explained, almost giddy.

“Okay, and you won't kill me after?” Alfred asked shyly.

“Never.” Soft was Ivan's voice, an sound of joy.

“What are you wishing for?” Matthew demanded. “Are we going to get killed?”

“Hopefully not.” Alfred assured his brother, readying the key. “Okay, Ivan. Genie of the nesting doll.”

“Yes Master Jones?” Ivan looked on, the happiest both boys had ever seen him.

“I wish for you to be free.” Alfred stuck the key in the hole and turned. Matthew could actually hear the click of tumblers aligning within. The golden key vanished into thin air, the key hole now gone. Once invisible chains glittered gold, binding every part of Ivan to the earth. The solid chains rusted into every colour of the rainbow. Silting into heaps on the floor.

The living room was a disaster zone of weird rainbow glitter, Ivan standing at it's centre. He dropped his shirt and felt his body. He ran his fingers through his hair in wonder. He snapped his fingers. Nothing happened.

Kicking aside former chains, Ivan swept Alfred into a hug. “Oh thank you both so much, thank you! I will spoil you both! My lapushka, moy zaika!”

Alfred wriggled in concern. He needed to breathe, and his captor was incredibly strong. “N-no p-problem...”

“I have been imprisoned one thousand years! Today is the first day of my new life, and I owe it all to both of you!”

Alfred kicked wildly and freed himself, gasping for air. It took a minute to recover. “Kinda crushed me there.”

Matthew, still clutching the wad of money, was curious. “So uh, what does owing us involve?”

Ivan gave a hooded gaze, one of gratitude and possible flirting. It was definitely flirting to Alfred, an eternally lonely and needy person. “I will show my true form, the apparent sin I was imprisoned for.” His form shifted in prismatic glory. Magic was really bright to look at directly in this intensity, just like the sun.

The light dimmed, and both boys lowered shielding hands. It was a dragon in their rented living room. There was a dragon as big as a truck inside their house, royal purple and smouldering with heat. Pale violet fires for eyes leveled with the shocked boys.

“I am eternally grateful. Anything you want, I can get it.” Ivan telepathically spoke, his dragon maw not well suited to conversation. It was better adapted to biting off people's heads.

Alfred instantly recovered, more excited and a child at a carnival. “A dragon! Ohmigosh! Can I touch your tail? Can I go for a ride? Can you breathe fire? Can you set fire to my work place so I don't have to work? Don't, but can you? Because even just knowing... Mattie look I befriended a dragon!”

Ivan, his huge black webbed wings crunched into the house, dragged him self slightly closer. The drywall was scraped all to hell from jagged dragon claws and body. They were never getting their security deposit back. Towering over Alfred as he bounced around, the purple dragon rumbled in humour.

Matthew's stomach was heavy with dread, observing this rolling disaster. Alfred had just freed a murder genie, which was actually a trapped murder dragon. His internal terror was only confirmed further by Ivan's cheerful response.

“Of course. I love burning buildings.”


	3. INTERVIEW

[Jazzy introduction music plays. Camera 1, 2, and 3 give panned shots leading to Ivan and Alfred at desk, camera centres on hosts]

ALFRED: Welcome back to the Rusame hour!

IVAN: That last clip was a whopper. Me as a dragon.

ALFRED: Downright magical I say. That is a new one for us from Jupiterra Industries. Your number one reading choice.

[Sponsor logo briefly shows in corner of screen.]

IVAN: I think painting myself as a trapped dragon reflects the power complex of living nations. Especially considering who is the dragon and who is the master in that clip.

ALFRED: Swimming in the deep end already? I might need to bust out my literary water wings.

[Rimshot followed by audience laugh. Ivan looks around in concern for audience.]

IVAN: Today we have a treat of an interview.

ALFRED: That's right! Please welcome co-founder of Rusame Creators and Lovers Discord, President Snow!

[Snow enters stage to wild applause. Ivan still unable to find audience, gives up. Snow sits and waves to Camera 2 and 3. Camera 1 widens to include all guests.]

SNOW: Hey! Hi! [Laugh] Thanks for having me! It’s great to be here! 

ALFRED: It's a pleasure to have you, Mr. President Snow. King Snow? What's your preferred title? 

[Ivan looks very interested, but not overbearingly so]

SNOW: Snow is fine [Laughs]

ALFRED: Your Discord server, Rusame Creators and Lovers, has been instrumental in gathering some of the top producers of RusAme content in one place. Was this intentional?

Snow: Yeah sort of. I wanted to give everyone a space to talk about it and create content. I never thought it would get this big though. In all honesty I just wanted to see more content.

IVAN: With the addition of Baby Morrison and many other famous brands, your server is making big waves in the RusAme business. What future plans do you have in mind as your organization grows?

SNOW: Well... I would like to be able to help boost artists and writers and other creators. But most importantly is making friendships in the fandom.

ALFRED: Friendship is powerful, almost as powerful as this guy!

[Ivan click button on a remote. Several cosplay pictures with Snow as Ivan are shown on backdrop.]

IVAN: Clearly handsome. Reminds me of someone I know.

ALFRED: [Clears throat] You are an accomplished cosplayer Snow. What is it about RusAme that inspires you?

SNOW: [laughs, face turning pink] Thank you Ivan. Well... uh... I studied russian culture and language for quite some time, and when I stumbled upon Hetalia I immediately liked Ivan. RusAme inspires me because well... the ship is a lot like my fiancée and I. Not to mention the ship is the whole reason I even met her.

ALFRED: Adorable. Maybe we can have your future wife on the show sometime.

IVAN: You say that because she cosplays as you.

ALFRED: That's completely unrelated... I was told imitation is the highest form of flattery though. [Laughs]

SNOW: [chuckles] She’s a bit camera shy, but I know she’d love to meet you Alfred. She’s a big fan. 

IVAN: In a decade of such insecurities, disasters, and social failings, people are turning to media more than ever for comfort. Do you think members of the RusAme community are doing this?

SNOW: Absolutely! The past year has been hard for a multitude of reasons, and it’s nice to have an escape. 

ALFRED: One topic of contention in the last decade has been gender and it's definition. As a transitioning RusAme enthusiast, is there any correlation between gender uncertainty and the RusAme fanbase?

SNOW: I’m not sure if there is a correlation to be honest. I will say as someone who struggled with coming out and such, I found cosplaying men comforting. In some way, I realized I was transmasc by cosplaying Ivan. 

IVAN: I can be a comforting source of masculinity.

ALFRED: I am a total package compared to you, Braginsky.

[Ivan hums in amusement]

ALFRED: As a friend to the fandom, what are your favourite tropes?

IVAN: Spare no delicious details.

SNOW: [laughs] I’m a huge fan of all AUs, enemies to lovers, and I suppose I’d say arranged marriage tropes. Honestly, if it’s rusame, it’s my favourite trope. 

ALFRED: I am a treasured commodity, marrying this all beef patty is reward enough.

IVAN: I'd say you are more of a veggie burger.

[Alfred is visibly insulted as Ivan takes over interview.]

IVAN: As a participant of the vibrant RusAme community, where do you think trends are headed?

SNOW: I think we’re going to see a lot of artist collaborations, a lot of headcanons and things becoming a community idea, more silly inside jokes. I’m excited to see whatever does come along, but I honestly can’t predict what the amazing creators will do next. 

ALFRED: And then... There's the jeans.

[A scary picture of jeans is shown on the back drop.]

IVAN: [Serious expression] When did the pandemin start?

SNOW: I can say it all started with Kat. It was an inside joke between her and I from conventions and things. She brought it into the chatroom and it spiralled from there. [laughs]

IVAN: He knows our secret.

ALFRED: We absolutely do not have a jean fetish... [Stands, shakes Snow's hand] It has been a pleasure to interview you King President Snow.

IVAN: A treasure, really.

SNOW: [Hugs Alfred] Thank you both so much! [Offers to hug Ivan]

IVAN: [Accepts hug] Thank you for the time! Lets roll in the next clip!

ALFRED: The show goes on!

[Cameras pan out into fade. Audience applauds.]

[Play clip 2]


	4. Clip 2: They Hunger

**They Hunger**  
AU: modern horror + comfort  
Rating: M with violence

Rain, luxurious liquid of life, blessed the simple creature. After ages locked away in rock and stone, then cooked by fire, it was distantly aware it was alive. Landing in cool dark of salty water, there was little direction as light passed over. Light into dark, dark into light. It was a circadian breathing to a thing without organs.

_Nothing here was good enough._

Drifting on, hunting a host. This was all there was, that could be done. The light cycling infinity went on as it floated near the ceiling of the water universe. There was only searching, until a heavy something struck it.

Splattered against the rigid mineral shell of a rapid beast, the thing took ages to orient itself. It crawled upwards, breaching into a dry universe. It was harsher here, but worth the risk. A beating pulse of sentient energy lay within. Even tasting mental morsels through a thick crust was encouraging.

There was sentience in this non toxic place. Now was the time to sample this onslaught of possible animals. Long term survival would entirely hinge on finding a compatible brain.

00000

Little Alfred looked outwards with longing to the ocean. He often did this, counting the boats that went by. At a tender four years old, it was easy to imagine he had a mom on one of those boats. A mom that loved him and a daddy that would protect him, just like story books. Mr. Kirkland tried, but foster care was... not ideal.

Dim memories of his dad on a boat, face blurred from time. That's all Alfie had. Miss Williams neared, her tall maternal frame unmistakable. Alfred pointed to the ocean. “Boats, Miss!”

He was picked up by the assistant caretaker, carried back with ease. The little boy knew he couldn't break free, giving into her softness. Her voice was kindness, but not much else. “Mr. Kirkland was worried, Alfie. He didn't like you running off.”

The eternally chain smoking foster parent wasn't far, at the fenced property line. Their house was last on the rural street, in sight range of the Atlantic ocean. With few child neighbours to befriend, Alfred had to settle for his two foster siblings. He knew how things worked. These weren't his real parents. Eventually, Alfred would be moved again.

_He was so lonely._

Carried inside the lovely English home, Alfred was put at the dinner table. Mr. Kirkland followed, seating himself at the head of the table. The stern foster parent was as salty as the nearby ocean, weathering through one wife since Alfred arrived. Miss Williams was hired soon after, a constant friendly presence when her employer was at work.

Two other children had left in the past year, adopted out to new homes. Now there was Alfred at age four, Jack at age five, and Michelle at age six. All three children knew they still had a chance at a real home. They were still desirable cute, and worked this angle relentlessly with passing potential parents.

“Now that we're all here, dinner is served.” Mr. Kirkland spoke, digging into his meal. “Thank Miss Williams for cooking this ham.”

“Thank you Miss Williams.” All three children called out in discordant union. They were eager to eat, everyone but Alfred. Alfred didn't want ham with potatoes and peas. He wanted friendship.

On the verge of tears, Alfred wriggled in his padded chair. “M-miss Williams. I gotta go bathroom.”

Miss Williams looked from the child to her employer, smiling shyly. “I'll take care of it.”

Alfred was guided along the wallpapered halls. His steps were tottering and short compared to her adult strides. “You won't make a mess in there?” The caretaker asked kindly, her wavy blonde locks framing a freckled face.

“I'm a big boy. I can do it.” The child promised eagerly. Mr. Kirkland had a step stool around so little boys like Alfie could exert independence and wash their hands in the tall sink.

“Okay, go take care of your business. I'll be out here if you need help, Mr. Man.” Miss Williams offered, crossing her arms in amusement.

Alfred puffed his chest out and marched in, briefly forgetting why he lied about going bathroom. Ah right, to cry his guts out in loneliness. Closing the door, he shuffled to the soft blue towel hanging off hook. He cried as quiet as he could manage, snotty sniffled confessions of need silenced by towel. He hid in the fabric, seeking comfort.

How long would this foster home last? Why did no one want to forever adopt him? Why did dad have to die at sea?

The now ruined hand towel had no answers. Miss Williams knocked on the door. “Alfie? Do you need help in there?”

“I'm c-cleaning up Miss Will-iams.” Alfred called out, voice slightly hoarse. He had to clean up. Mr. Kirkland said it wasn't 'proper' to bawl one's eyes out. The stern adult might reject Alfred to the very streets in this state! Fueled off this childish terror, Alfred scrambled to the sink via step stool. Running the water, he splashed his hands and face clean.

About to turn the water off, a purple dot fell out of the faucet. It was no bigger than a crushed doughnut sprinkle. Curious, Alfred poked it. It stuck to his finger... then vanished into nothing. Alfred was unsure if he had poked anything at all. Suddenly dizzy, he barely held onto the sink. “Miss Williams. Room is... spinning.”

The caretaker rushing in to catch him was the last clear recollection. Alfred spent what felt like forever in feverish napping. He only woke to eat or drink water. Even stuffy old Mr. Kirkland came around to tend to him.

In all this, a warm presence built. Alfred couldn't see this something, but it felt like a hug. He hadn't known such joy since his dad died last year. Love, Alfred was definitely loved. It was a tingly joy that radiated his whole happy little body.

After three days, Alfred was instantly better. He was running around, screeching, and destructive like the others. Adults didn't know what to make of this medical miracle, relieved. The fever was gone, and frankly that was good enough.

Five days after seeing the purple dot, Alfred was playing in the backyard sandbox. He didn't need the check the passing boats for his dad anymore, though he had no idea why. His eternal sadness was still around, if becoming distant. Patting down the top of a sandcastle, he decided he needed decorations. Mr. Kirkland's patio set probably had choice materials.

Standing on a patio chair, he found Miss William's hand mirror. Perfect. Stabbing it into the top of the huge sand castle, he was rather proud of his handiwork. With the older kids in kindergarten, Alfred was with his female warden. Really, it was her fault for going inside and leaving her treasure unguarded.

The caretaker returned, sighing. “Alfie, my mirror...”

“Mine.” Alfred proclaimed, stomping energetically around the sandbox.

“Mine. Clean up and we can go play at the park.” She corrected, plucking her mirror out of the sandcastle. Alfred whined, guided along. Before the huge bathroom mirror, he froze.

“Miss, who's that?”

The women knelt low, gesturing to Alfred's reflection. “That's you, love.”

The man in the mirror was seated on the floor, looking friendly in his black turtleneck. He waved, and it seemed familiar. Certain the adult was lying, Alfred went along with it. “O-o-okay?”

The mirror man was weirdly persistent, if fun. He could materialize in steam sometimes, and most shiny surfaces. He chased along with Alfred in tag, silent benevolence. He listened to Alfred's rambling stories with gentle approval. He was everything Alfred needed as a parent, trapped in two dimensional reflections.

It was two months since the best friend had materialized, now verbal and mostly solid in reflections. Alfred was playing with Miss Williams by the beach, rippling reflections of his friend never far in the water.

“Can imaginary friends be real, Miss Williams?” Alfred asked, picking shells out of the sand.

“No love, they aren't real.”

The water rippled, Ivan disagreeing. Alfred helped pick out his name days prior. _I am very real, she knows nothing_.

Alfred was inclined to believe the talking reflection buddy more. “Are you sure? Because...” Miss Williams looked down, pale eyes scrutinizing. This seemed like a moment where talking about a talking mirror friend was a bad idea. Alfred switched topics, offering a seashell. “Want a shell?”

“Sure, I'd love your prettiest shell.”

Later in the evening, Alfred was getting ready for bed. It was not unusual to converse with Ivan, pulling on his sleep clothes. “Ivan?”

_Yes Fedya?_

Alfred approached the full length mirror, shy. “I don't want to live here. Can you come get me?”

_Where would you like to go little one?_

“Um. America, where my daddy came from. I don't like English food.”

Ivan crouched close in the glass, safe and kind. _If you wish very hard, I can come adopt you._

Alfred squealed in joy. “Really?”

_Of course!_

With this mental confirmation, Alfred jumped around in ecstatic glee. He returned to chatting with Ivan. “How do I wish it?”

 _Concentrate on it very hard, Fedya. Want it with all the energy you have._ Ivan encouraged.

“I will! I will!” Alfred cheered. Jack and Michele passed by the open bedroom door. They looked to the one sided conversation, then each other quizzically.

“Mr. Kirkland! Alfred is acting weird!” the older foster sister called out.

“How is this news?” The salty Englishman yelled, a floor down.

Ignoring the home noises, Alfred closed his door. He lay in bed, certain how this would all go. Ivan had asked him for energy enough times that symptoms were anticipated. How else had the comforting spirit transgressed from shadowy shapes to solid colour and sound?

More than anything else, little Alfred wanted a daddy again. He wanted these things intensely, and it was worth the odd dizzy spell in bed. Scrunching his eyes shut, he wished for his freedom. He gave the intention his everything, until he dropped off into dizzy unconsciousness. He could swear he felt a kind hand ruffle his hair, a father hum shortly after.

Ivan was gone for two weeks, but Alfred wished nightly in true loyalty. He had lived here a year without his new friend, and two weeks seemed achievable. This foggy morning, all three children were woken up at the crack of dawn. Mr. Kirkland himself was grooming the young children.

This was an adoption day. There was no other reason he would take so much time on tiny fastidious detail. Jack and Michelle had already garnered interest online, getting visits from couples months ago. This was likely the cause of interest today. Alfred stared glumly at the floor, depressed.

He wanted Ivan to come back. The little boy was getting terribly lonely.

“Look sharp children. This could be the one.” Mr. Kirkland warned, lifting Alfred sad face. “Begging eyes, good idea lad.”

Miss Williams knelt before Alfred after her employer walked off his office. Dabbing tears dry, she cooed comforts. “Today could be a day of joy Alfie. No tears, okay?”

“Okay.” Alfred sniffled, letting his face be cleaned.

The children were on their very best behaviour until before lunch, not daring to dirty their clothes. Everyone knew what was at stake here. They didn't talk about it, but there was a territorial need for this parent to be _theirs_. It was the same primal need that made all three fight over toys or chocolate pudding. Only one child was potentially leaving today, and no one wanted to lose.

In the thick of this silent tension, Alfred was somewhat excluded from play. It was a relief, given how competitive everyone was. He settled for clinging to Miss William's skirt in the kitchen. The four year old was distracted by a doll the caretaker had made from old shirts. “Miss?”

There was muted clattering of glass as the caretaker washed dishes. “Yes dear?”

“Am I going to have a Daddy?”

There was a short pause of hesitation. This was not the first visitation for young Alfred. This was hardly the first time Miss Williams had been asked. “I don't know.”

“It's for Michelle, right?” Alfred wanted to be happy for the darker skinned child, but it was difficult. They all needed parents.

She looked down, patience incarnate. Alfred often wondered if Miss Williams would adopt one of them, yet doubted it. She was nice, but obviously here for the pay cheque. “You have to be positive. No Mr. Sad today.”

Ah, the same old routine. “Yes Miss.” Alfred couldn't take acting anymore. He gripped his dolly tight, heading outside. Jack and Michelle were already by the front garden, piling rocks for reasons unknown. The fog was beginning to thin in the vague heat of late English morning.

The vision of visions could be seen from down the dirt road. A realistic version of the car Already drew yesterday appeared. It was a old style vehicle in black, Lights like eyes. The windows were tinted, hiding the driver's identity. Alfred lost his collective marbles as soon as the driver parked and emerged.

“ **IVAN! IT'S IVAN! LOOK IT'S IVAN!** ”

Alfred screeched and howled in joy, trying desperately to climb the garden fence. Mr. Kirkland was jolted from his novel on the porch, ready to greet a client as always. “Alfie, manners!”

Ivan laughed, lifting the eager boy over the low garden fence. “My Fedya. Let's pretend I am uncle, yes?” He purred, exactly as deep and fatherly as Alfred dreamed.

Mr. Kirkland rushed over, embarrassed. “Pardon this one. He's very excitable.”

Ivan gave a warm smile, but it only existed for Alfred. “It is fine. I love my nephew Alfred.”

The Englishman paused, thick brows furrowed. “Nephew?”

A cup of tea later in the dining room, Ivan was handing over legal papers mid chatter. Alfred barely listened. “... and as you can see, at the time of Peter's death, I was still married to his sister. So I am willing and able to raise this bundle of joy.” Ivan pinch a cheek for good measure, earning a smile. Alfred giggled, glued to Ivan since his arrival.

“Alfred could you go play with the other children? This man and I require a civil conversation.”

Alfred didn't care in the slightest. “No. He's uncle Ivan from Russia.”

Mr. Kirkland was still skeptical, arms crossed. “Peter Jones died a year ago. Where have you been?”

Ivan was respectful enough, letting Alfred play on his lap and cuddle. “I was working on an oil rig until three months ago. I am now working closer to home, and have much time for my brother's child. Tracking my little star down was very hard.”

After a chilling stare down with Mr. Kirkland, Ivan booped Alfred's nose. The boy giggled in joy. “I missed you lots.” Alfie confessed.

Mr. Kirkland was stalling, not trusting a single claim. “I'll have to discuss this with... my associates. Yes. Will you be in town a few days?”

Burning cold violet eyes leveled with the property owner. Ivan was very stubborn, as Alfred imagined he would be. “I have all week.”

Mr, Kirkland looked sick from the targeted glare, paling and stammering slightly. “V-very well. I'll contact your number as soon as I clear things up. Miss Williams, will you do the honours?”

“This way, Sir.” Miss Williams greeted, hovering by the door for the last five minutes. She had already shaken Ivan's hand once, in avoidance about doing it again. Even Jack and Michelle seemed put off by his powerful presence. Alfred figured they were jealous.

Upon nightfall, Alfred pretended to sleep. He listened keenly at the top of the stairs, stealthy as ever. Miss Williams took Sundays off, about to depart for town at the usual 9 pm. Both adults were in the kitchen, audible if barely.

“I don't bloody trust the twit. He looked me in the eyes and he's dead inside. Dead.”

“Sir, I know Mr. Braginsky is... cold as a person. We can't judge relatives. With all due respects, we need the vacancy.”

Mr. Kirkland made the kitchen floor groan as he paced his familiar route. “I'm aware, Miss Williams. The city is trying to unload two more cases on my lap.”

“If the paper work is real.”

“I think it is. I hope not, I sent a copy away.”

There was a motherly sigh. “We might not have the resources or liability to say no.”

Alfred silently fist pumped the air, biting back a hoot of joy. With stealthy steps, he retreated to his room. It would take a long month of rare visits from Ivan and hoping, but Mr. Kirkland relented. Today was the day. Alfred was up before the entire household, dressed and curled up on his soft bag of things. The moment of reckoning was here, Alfred's rescue. Jack and Michelle had been stewing jealously for days.

Breakfast was terse, to frame it sparingly. “They only adopted him because he's younger!” Michelle argued in anger, stabbing her pancakes at the table.

“Yeah. Younger is cuter.” Jack agreed, torturing a gooseberry.

“It's not fair!” The foster sister fumed.

“Now now children. There's a mother or a father for everyone in the world.” Mr. Kirkland assured poorly, a dry figure emotionally. Alfred couldn't smile any harder, whistling slightly from a lost tooth. He cared nothing for the others. This was not his real family, never had been. The door bell rang, and the child raced to answer it. The other orphans slumped, moody.

Sure enough, with help from Mr. Kirkland the door was open. His salvation had arrived, over six feet tall with ashen blonde hair. Ivan was here, and he was home.

00000

They looked to the vulnerable human child in the passenger seat. It had taken some time to seek an ideal host, and longer to cultivate enough bio-electric energy. The result was enough power to assemble this bipedal humanoid form. They had learned early on in the feast that was a cruise ship.

They learned these animals were ideal batteries and shells to live in. Humans were also deeply sensitive animals, aware they were being invaded. It took the right frequency, environment, and timing. They had to be patient and survive off the ravaged rats of London. Spreading outward via pipes of water. Seeking.

_Seeking._

_Thirsting._

_Hunting._

It was cosmic luck to find the orphanage. Finding a perfect match in this young creature was blessings. Nurturing the electric exchange called love, a pure bond was established early on. With this delicious beta wave inducing carrier, They would never hunger again. Aside from harvesting organic materials and stealing third party thoughts, The organism was sated. It always would be, this “love” business almost exponential.

It felt magical, Their structures now completely integrated into Alfred's brain. Nothing could stop them. The car radio crackled boring news as they drove with fully radial senses. They could feel the sound waves and watched the radio energy in the air.

“... The man hunt is still on in the village of Dorsbury after a man was discovered missing organs. Any clues can be called in at ...”

They turned off the radio with a twitch of telekinetic energy. That business was still bothering the herds of humans, apparently. Kill one and they all panicked like birds. No matter, it was only material gathering and identity theft. They were fleeing the country to the USA. They were certain they could shelter this loving delicate thing eternally. Need be, they could make it stronger, faster, more intelligent. As things were, Alfred was perfectly fine. Definitely more sentient than rats.

“Ivan?” Alfred called out, taking long sleepy blinks.

“Yes, my star?” This title was not a lie. The boy glowed with multiple wavelengths of energy in cosmic vision. All life did, but this stellar object was more important. They would die without it.

“The scary man on the radio. He gonna get me?” Scared eyes turned to them for comfort. Comfort was easily constructed in the neurons.

“Never. You will never be hurt or alone again. We will be on a plane soon, away from all of this”

There was a sweet yawn from the young human. “I like that.”

They liked this too, down to the DNA level. “I love you Alfred.”

Alfred's eyes were bright, smiling all their own. He had a Daddy now.


	5. Clip 3: Late To The Party

[Play clip 3]

 **Late To The Party**  
AU: Historical + canon  
Rating: M + murder

**1778**

Alfred had endured hell upon the ocean, horse saddle sores, and bumpy carriage rides. Over ten weeks of travel lead this moment. Two years after going independent as his own country, the united states of America was invited to a nation's ball. Of course it was hosted at Prussia's glorious estate. Even the fashion was far away and unknown.

“Less is more.” France insisted.

“Go casual, freedom is better!” Spain promised.

“Waistcoats are so last decade.” Poland teased.

Alfred was doubtful, but went along with the ruse. He had tall black boots just for the occasion, with a finely crafted sailor's tunic. This was sure to surprise at the eclectic ball of legends. Alfred perhaps had the appearance of a teen, but Europe was finally taking him seriously.

Running thumb against leather carriage seating, Alfred finally saw the Berlin mansion. It was rose gardens, marble statues, and roman columns. German dignitaries and Nations alike mingled with flutes of wine outside generous double doors. As the sun set, noble creatures herded inside for a full course of dinner and dancing.

There was not but a single head without powdered wig. Tail coats and buttons flocked the crowd, not a detail spared. Alfred looked like a peasant here. He swallowed anxious terror, certain only the regular party attendants were bejeweled in standard splendour. Surely there was more plain Nations within.

Leaving the carriage, he was ignored like a wilted flower. He bravely pushed on, shorter than some. He entered the grand home, eyes taking in an ocean of luxury. Gloved hands on crystal wine glass, Tufted furtive glares of judgment burning. Fabric shimmered as a hundred eyes judged Alfred F Jones. By god, he had been taken for a cad.

Alfred wasted ten weeks of his life traveling to a ball under false pretenses. He wallowed in his own pity, not bothering to dance. He felt crushed to ash by this latest spurn. The United States of America only wished to be popular, or at least taken seriously.

Appearing too young to drink, not a single servant would let Alfred have so much as a drop. There was nothing here to dull the scaling humiliation. All of Europe had tricked him into mismatched clothes on the international stage.

Ten week of hell for a hope of popularity, only to be a prank. Alfred was the very fool they thought of him. On the verge of tears, the young nation stood awkwardly by a snack tray. The noble Russia approached, the very height of dignity and brocaded cotton. The ashen blonde was still fantastically tall.

“Mr. Jones... you are dressed like a peasant. Is this part of some great joke I have not been informed?”

Such crushing words from a war faring idol of strength! Alfred crumpled, seeing England and France snicker in the back. “I-I'm sorry I was late to the party. I know you invited me but... I'm sorry.” the young nation sniffled, fleeing the main ball room.

Confused, Russia set aside his wine. He trailed Alfred to a mostly empty tea room. Beyond that was a grand rose garden.

“Mr. Jones!” Russia called out, heeled boots clacking on stone. Alfred paused, rising moon gilding his face in faint silver. He looked scared, cracked porcelain at the verge. Ivan approached slowly, expression rosy. He had approved of America's independence since the start, sending boats and some men. It was worth the sacrifice, this former colony bright with potential. “Why do you flee?”

Alfred sniffled, eyes bleary. “Europe is a bunch of jerks. I thought you all wanted me here but I'm just a joke. No one likes me here, they never will.”

Ivan paused, looking back to the grand mansion. It took him a minute to piece together the smug murmurs and Mr. Jones's condition. He furrowed pale brows and knelt before the young country. “They didn't tell you it was a formal event.”

Alfred shook his head. “They did not. I... I traveled ten weeks to attend and now I feel like a court fool.”

“Fret not United States of America. We can go elsewhere. Have you seen the shoppes in Berlin?” Ivan offered sweetly, daring to kiss a tanned hand.

Alfred blushed richly at the gesture, honoured to be fawned over by a world power. “I have not.”

“We can go if you wish. Do you need my long coat to fend off chill?” Ivan was many things, but he was not subtle.

“Perhaps. I will need the long coat if we leave now.” Alfred batted fine lashes at his suitor, very much aware this was basic courting. He suspected as much when Ivan sent ships of war from a single letter of request. It was quite nice to be desired.

“Of course. I need to retrieve my walking cane, then we can part.” Ivan stood proper, taking off his long coat. Alfred accepted the garment, feeling somewhat cold. He watched in wonder as his new guide vanished inside. Russia returned promptly, cane in hand. He had three roses in hand, bound with gold ribbon.

“Flowers for you, Mr. Jones.”

“Why Mr. Russia, I couldn't. You've already been so kind.” Alfred felt flustered now, wrapped in the musky warmth of Russia's fine coat.

The romantic could not be stopped, enigmatic joy in his eyes. He didn't smile with his lips so much as his very being. “I insist. You can call me Mr. Braginsky, or Ivan.”

Alfred looked upwards in hooded gaze, more seductive than he knew. “You are... quite taken with me, Mr. Braginsky.”

Ivan was speechless a moment, swallowing. He seemed unaware he was gushing praise, only confirming the trend with silence. “If I'm being obtrusive...”

“Hardly.” Alfred chuckled. “These roses are beautiful, Ivan.” At this he stood on tip toes, kissing Ivan softly on the cheek while accepting the three roses. Ivan took a moment to compose himself, body language alight with joy.

“A-ah perhaps we should leave.” 

Alfred smiled, linking arms. “Do lead the way.”

There were serene as they left the property, gazes and laughter only for each other. Alfred was so light, unknowing that every nation at the party was choking on the floor inside. Ivan had poisoned their wine with arsenic after discovering they made Mr. Jones cry.

The new king of the world would only know happiness this night, at Ivan's discretion.


	6. INTERVIEW

[Jazzy introduction music plays. Camera 1, 2, and 3 give panned shots leading to Ivan and Alfred at desk, camera centres on hosts]

ALFRED: Welcome back, fans of my beautiful face!

IVAN: I think they're here for me Mr. Jones. Look at my perfect self. [Gestures to projected background of fan art]

ALFRED: My my. You know what this means?

IVAN: What?

ALFRED: Today we're going to interview an artist.

IVAN: That's right invisible audience, please welcome famous artist Baby Morrison!

[Audience applauds. Morris enters stage right. Camera 2 pans upon entry, switching to camera 1 centred at desk.]

MORRIS: [Waves] Hi guys, happy to be here!

ALFRED: [Stands, offers handshake] Welcome to the Rusame hour! Please take a seat. 

MORRIS: [takes seat] Thanks for having me! I have to say, I'm a big fan of the both of you!! 

IVAN: It's safe to say you are a prolific artist. Your brand is on Tumblr and Instagram, and the Rusame economy only seems to go up in relevance.

ALFRED: That's right. Some speculate that Hetalia is on the rise. How do you feel about this?

MORRIS: It's so funny that you mention that! I'm not sure if it's because of quarantine or not, but I have seen a lot more interest in, not only my work, but Hetalia in general! it was really surreal seeing it trend on Tumblr this year.

IVAN: What do you think of the claim that your art is pushing this influence into the public eye?

MORRIS: Ah, I'm not sure if it's me. I wouldn't exactly call myself a BNF or anything, but I think there's been a recent resurgence of interest from older fans. I think any popularity that I have comes from people liking the sort of stuff that I make for myself... which is always nice 

IVAN: What inspired you to start? Do you have anything to say to potential artists in the field?

MORRIS: ... Inspired to start drawing? I've always drawn since I could remember, but Hetalia has been a big part of my life since I was pretty young. In a lot of ways, I think it helped me survive many hard times in my life as dumb as it sounds.

IVAN: I think it's wonderful.

ALFRED: Do you have any future goals you'd like to reach as an artist?

MORRIS: Like any artist, I want to continue growing and getting better. Right now, I'm working on how I colour and shade. It's been very rewarding having so much support both online and in the server.

ALFRED: The Rusame Creators and Lovers server on the Discord app, correct?

MORRIS: [Nods]

ALFRED: [looks thoughtful] Now, as an artist, you have been observed to evolve styles within this very year. From paper, to tablet, and even style changes. Do you think there's a sense of nostalgia or charm that's lost in electronic medium?

MORRIS: Definitely. I think there's a certain charm to my traditional art that I lost when I transferred over to digital. However, I can do a lot more on digitally and push my art in ways that I was limited to with only a pencil and paper. I guess its a sort of win-lose situation. 

IVAN: Is there any artists you look up to, regardless of medium?

MORRIS: Hmm well... When I was growing up I definitely looked up to Zeemo, Cidershark, and Spacedrunk on Tumblr. Other than them, I draw a lot of my inspiration from the 80s-90s. I used to draw a lot in a Hannah Barbara-esque style a lot more before I started posting on tumblr. My style evolved to fit the platform I guess. Nowadays, I'm mostly inspired by my friends and certain courses I've taken at university. 

IVAN: University? You're going for it all.

ALFRED: [Laughs] A true bond villain.

MORRIS: [laughs evilly] Personally, I wouldn't call myself a villain, but I won't start espousing my heroism here. It'd be in poor taste.

ALFRED: Okay, the must know question. [Leans forward in interest] What is your favourite Rusame trope? 

MORRIS: I'm not sure if I have a favourite trope per say, but I'm a sucker for any situation that brings either one of you into great emotional pain. I guess as cliche as it sounds, I'm a sucker for a good fist fight-turned romance. 

IVAN: But only because I'm the handsome one. Isn't that right? [Audience cheers. Alfred takes the Audience sound button back.]

ALFRED: [offers charming smile] Who's your favourite, Baby Morris?

MORRIS: Well Al, you're not going to like the answer. [laughs] Ivan's such a smarmy bastard, it's hard not to love him.

IVAN: [Smug grin]

Alfred: Well... This had been a heart breaking interview with Baby Morris.

IVAN: It's okay Fedya. I still like you.

MORRIS: Sorry to disappoint. [Sympathetic smile]

ALFRED: Once again, a pleasure to meet you. [Offers hand] On behalf of Jupiterra Industries, this was a true delight.

IVAN: Jupiterra Industries, your choice for fluff with a splash of murder. [Ivan winks, logo appears in corner]

MORRIS: [Shakes hand] Really, it was my pleasure. Thank you for having me on The Hour. 

ALFRED: Roll the next clip, Tino!

[Play Clip 4]


End file.
